


The Pine Tree

by Mary_West



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fae & Fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_West/pseuds/Mary_West
Summary: A snippet created to help a friend who needed a fairy tale tucked into her own fic. It needs expanding.





	The Pine Tree

In the deepest, darkest depths of each of the Old Forests, it is said that there stands a pine tree so large, so tall, so old that it stood in that spot a thousand years ago. It is said that the Queen of Faerie made this her door to her realm and as long as the tree stands, so she will be able to travel from the world of Mortals to the land of enchantments and magic.

One fine spring day, a long long time ago, a young woodsman called Peter who was getting married in the fall was striding through the forest. His lady, Sarah, was the brightest and the best of the girls in the village. She was blithe and bonny, sweet and sensible. She could cook for a household, sew a fine seam, and make a man laugh when he was tired and in need of succour. He had won her with sweet words, with a strong arm mending her father's house, and with a carved spoon with love-hearts down the centre and her initials at the top. They were to be married in the fall, and he needed to have their house built by that time.

Peter knew nothing of the old tales. He saw the huge pine tree, and thought to himself that it would make wonderful rafters and still have plenty left over for the walls. He took off his light coat, rolled up his sleeves, checked the sharpness of his axe and then struck one hard blow to the side of the tree. Unfortunately, just as he was swinging, his foot slipped slightly on an exposed root. In trying to stop himself from falling over Peter turned the axe in his hands and only the side of it hit the tree. But it hit hard, with a "whack" that echoed and echoed, building up the sound until Peter, terrified, had to drop his axe and put his hands over his ears.

The tree shook.

The tree trembled.

Seven pine cones dropped one by one from the tree, the last dropping as the noise rose to a crescendo then...

... stopped.

To Peter's further terror, a door in the side of the tree flew open, and out flew a swarm of pixies. They jumped on him from all sides, and while he was able to pick one or two off him and throw them away, the rest wrestled him to the ground. The largest pixie stood over Peter and proclaimed:

_"No man lives who takes an axe_  
_And cuts our precious tree._  
_Blood for sap and sap for blood_  
_The same be done to he."_

At this the woodsman's eyes widened in fear, and he cried out "My lord, I was clumsy. Your tree is not cut. Spare me!"

The pixie looked him up and down, then walked over to the tree and inspected the damage. Sure enough there was only a small area of bark slightly flattened by Peter's ill-aimed blow. But then the creature's eyes narrowed as he saw the seven fallen pine cones that lay accusingly on the ground around the axe. He gestured, and seven of his minions released Peter, and each picked up one pine cone. The large pixie walked back to Peter, who was now kneeling in terrified supplication.

_"In each pine cone rests the seeds_  
_That bring the forest here._  
_Each seed stands for one full day_  
_Each cone makes a year._

_Seven pine cones hast thou killed_  
_And ta'en the chance for seed._  
_Seven years wilt thou be gone_  
_To pay for thy misdeed."_

Then the pixie walked up to the woodsman and kicked him once, hard, in the side. Peter felt a flash of pain, and he rolled over clutching at the site of the kick. The last thing he remembered before he fell unconscious was a high-pitched voice in his ear screeching "And that's for the bruise you gave our tree, you little shit!"

One does not ask what befalls a man who is taken into the land of Faerie, especially not one who has to remain there a full seven years. Think instead of his poor lady, left weeping in the village for her love who had disappeared without a trace. Three months after Peter walked out to start gathering timber to make their cottage, a hunter brought back Peter's now-rusting axe and rotting coat that he'd found lying on the ground next to a large tree. No other sign was found, and it was generally supposed that Peter must have been taken by a wild animal, or wandered accidentally into a ditch. Sarah wept once more for a night and a day, then dried her eyes and brushed her hair and put the wedding gown she was sewing into her hope chest. She vowed to wait a year and a day, and indeed she did, but when Peter did not return she went on with life (for indeed life does go on). In time a handsome young coppersmith from a distant town caught her heart and her soul while he was visiting his aunt in the village, and she kissed her family goodbye and danced her wedding dance around the well in the middle of the village then left to join her new husband. And only the hardest hearted of them all would have wished her ill.

And Peter?

Peter spent seven years in the land of Faerie, as a carpenter's apprentice to one of the Folk. He learned to set a dovetail joint so tight that three men could sit on the chair he built and it would not break. He met creatures and beings that were not meant for this world, and at the end of seven years he was given a new suit and a small bag of (real) gold and a kiss from the Faerie Queen, and then found himself back in the forest at the place where he had dropped his axe.

It should have taken him half the day to walk back to the village, but such was his eagerness to get back that he was there in two hours. He came out on the road that led past the village, and ran along the last mile in a great hurry to find …

… a burnt-out blackened clearing where the cottages were in ruins.

A travelling tinker was having his lunch in the middle of the village green, slaking his thirst from the village well which was the only structure left standing. He told Peter of the fire that had swept through the village two years before, in the depths of winter, when the chimney of his former love's house had ignited. How most of the villagers had been spared, but that the loss of all the houses and the lives of two families had been too much, and most of the villagers had left shortly afterwards to re-start their lives in a nearby town. And how Peter's affianced young lady, Sarah, was now a lady of some means and the wife of the head of the Town Council in a far-off place.

"And where is this place?" asked Peter.

The tinker pointed back down the road, to the west. "Three days journey."

Peter took a long, hard look down the road, then picked up his bundle and started walking east.


End file.
